Nothing in Common
by fhestia
Summary: An unlikely pairing, an unusual marriage, and it all comes to a head when one of them falls ill. Drabble request, Marriage Law fic, AU.


"Severus?"

Charity Burbage tiptoed through the quarters she shared with Professor Snape. His armchair was unoccupied and the blanket he'd been using to keep warm earlier now lay discarded on the floor. She moved it to one side with her foot and approached their small bedchamber.

"There you are," she said, unceremoniously dumping a pile of books on the end of the bed. "How are you feeling tonight?"

He stirred and raised himself up on one elbow, using his wand from the nightstand to bank the fire.

"In case it escaped your notice," he said hoarsely, "I was sleeping."

"No, you had your eyes closed," Charity said, clambering onto the bed and sitting cross-legged at the foot of it. "You weren't sleeping. Big difference."

"And how could you possibly know that?"

"Because you weren't snoring like a log chipper." She pulled a book from the untidy pile and opened it, scattering a small cloud of dust.

Severus coughed and drew the blanket up to cover his mouth and nose. "What are those?" he asked, his words muffled.

"I stopped at the library after class," she explained. "These books are absolutely fascinating; full of old-time Muggle cold remedies. Quite ingenious, some of them."

"I realize, given your profession, that they are a particular fascination of yours," he said, looking at her dubiously. "But why the sudden interest in old Muggle remedies?"

"I thought it wouldn't hurt to try a few," she said innocently. "Since _some_ people can't take Pepperup."

"And by 'some' I assume you mean me." When she didn't answer, he added, "There are many people who can't tolerate Pepperup."

"Hm," she said in a disinterested way, turning her attention back to the book. She murmured under her breath as she flipped through the pages quickly.

"What about this?" she asked, using a finger to mark her place. "You take a little garlic and mix it with warm milk..."

"Then you do what with it?"

"Uh, you drink it." Charity said with a frown. "I'm not sure how."

"No, thank you. I'd rather have a cold."

She nodded. "Can't say as I blame you."

After a few moments, she paused at another page. "How about something you don't have to ingest?" she asked. "Here's a recipe for a mustard plaster. You mix powdered mustard, flour and water into a paste and then apply it to the chest." She glanced up to find him staring at her with an incredulous expression.

"You are not putting anything on my chest, under any circumstances," he finally said.

"No, I'm not," she agreed. "But you could."

"_I'm_ not putting anything on my chest either."

"Never mind then." She frowned as she continued leafing through the book. "How about a..." she leaned closer to the page, her eyebrows drawing together. "...a hot toady?"

"It can't possibly be 'toady,' let me see that." He sat up and pulled the book into his lap. "It's a _toddy,_" he said, after a moment of reading.

"Well that doesn't make any more sense than 'toady', does it?" she said.

"No, it doesn't." He gave his pillow a hard thump and leaned against the headboard. "I'm sure I'll regret asking," he said, "but out of morbid curiosity, what exactly is a toddy?"

"A hot drink. Black tea, lemon, sugar and whiskey," Charity read, and then corrected herself. "Apparently quite a large quantity of whiskey."

He considered it for a moment. "That sounds almost palatable."

"I could make one for you," she offered. "I think I can substitute Firewhiskey. I'm not sure."

"Don't trouble yourself on my account."

"Well, we have to try something!" she said, closing the book emphatically and tossing it to the side. She jumped from the bed.

"It's no concern of yours."

"But it is my concern, Severus," she said, running her hands through her short dark curls in frustration. "Because I'm the one who's had to listen to you sniffle and cough and complain for the past few days."

Charity began to pace the room. She stopped suddenly, turning toward him. "Do you like soup?"

"'Do I like...?' What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one," she said. "Do you?"

"I don't know. I suppose. But why...?" He sat up and called after her as she abruptly left the room. "Charity, what's this all about?"

"I just had a thought," she called back. "When I caught cold as a girl, my mum always made chicken soup with lots of garlic."

Severus knew better than to protest, listening to the racket she was already making with pots and pans. Besides, he'd been miserable all day. Even though he would never admit it to her, soup sounded good.

He reached toward the foot of the bed to retrieve a different book from where they were piled. He opened it to a random page and as he read, his eyebrows shot up from a mixture of horror and fascination. The Dark Arts had nothing on some of these so-called remedies. He wondered idly if he could spell the pages shut so Charity wouldn't be tempted to try them. She seemed determined to cure him by any means necessary, but he suspected it was more from her inconvenience than out of any real concern for him.

A delicious smell began to waft in from the other room and his head nodded over a particularly horrible remedy involving chicken fat and dirty socks. He let the book tent on his chest and burrowed deeply into the comfort of his blankets. For the first time since they'd been forced together, Charity's presence in his quarters seemed more of a comfort than an annoyance. As he began to drift to sleep with that unsettling thought in his head, a loud crash and a shout came from the other room.

"Damn it!"

Severus staggered toward the sound, supporting himself against the door frame when he reached the kitchen. He wordlessly took in the sight of Charity, face flushed, hair standing out around her head, apron askew, slamming drawers much harder than necessary.

"Damn it all to _hell," _she said, rounding on a cabinet and kicking its door closed.

"What has come over you?" he asked.

"I'll tell you exactly what's come over me, Severus," she said, picking up a ladle and waving it threateningly. "I'm bustling around ike some demented little housewife. I'm chopping carrots and peeling onions and...and boiling a chicken carcass, for god's sake!"

"And why are you so upset?" He massaged his temples tiredly. The commotion was not helping his headache. "No one asked you to do any of this."

"That's not the problem!" she said. "The problem is, I think I'm enjoying myself. I'm humming and singing and I feel _nauseatingly_ content!"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. "I'm...sorry?"

"You should be! I never even thought about getting married until that stupid Ministry law. Never crossed my mind! Now I'm actually worried about your sodding cold and...and I'm making soup! You've turned me _domestic_!" Charity spat the word like an epithet.

She ripped off the apron and flung it to the ground. The ladle just missed his head as it went flying across the kitchen. She brushed past him so quickly that when he tried to grab her arm, she was already out the door and into the corridor.

Severus found her later, several passages away, crouched miserably on a stone bench, flickering torchlight deepening the shadows on her face. She didn't move or speak as he approached her.

"Charity," he said quietly, not wishing to startle her. "May I sit down?"

She scooted to the very end of the bench, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice quavering slightly.

He sat, keeping as far away from her as he could. A tense silence hung between them.

"I appreciate what you tried to do for me tonight," he said finally.

"I had no choice," she answered, sniffling back tears. "You're ill and it's all my fault. I had to do something."

"Your fault? How do you consider it your fault?"

"Well, think about it, Severus. First, the Ministry pushes through their ridiculous Marriage Law to ensure 'purity of the bloodlines' or some such rubbish." She ticked off the remaining points on her fingers. "Then you and I, two people who have barely even spoken to one another, are forced to marry. And now, not three weeks into said marriage, you've come down with a wretched cold."

She scrubbed at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. "I know it sounds ridiculous," she said, "But I assumed living with me was so bloody awful that it somehow made you ill from the strain."

"You can't seriously believe that," he said. "People catch cold all the time. It doesn't have to have some sinister, underlying cause."

She looked up at him, her expression so bleak and raw he had to be honest with her.

"It's not awful, Charity," he said. "But you must realize under different circumstances we would never have chosen one another."

She nodded miserably.

"And being forced to marry has complicated both of our lives considerably."

"I know," she sighed. "I mean, look at us. Head of Slytherin House and the Muggle Studies professor, the happy couple."

Severus gave a grudging smile but remained quiet.

"It's not like we have anything in common. Yet here we are, husband and wife by decree." She leaned her head against the corridor wall and closed her eyes. "Doesn't even come close to my girlhood fantasies. No offense intended."

He shrugged. "It's not what I imagined either."

She let her head fall to one side so she could study him. He nearly felt like squirming under her scrutiny and was relieved when she spoke. "Thank you for coming after me."

"You were upset."

"Still, you didn't have to."

He took her hand and covered it with his own. "We're together now, Charity."

The simple words, spoken in a low, serious tone, made Charity shiver. She touched the plain silver wedding band on his finger. "I've been feeling sorry for myself," she said. "I admit it. But this isn't going to be easy for either of us, is it?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Well, I've 'plighted thee my troth.' We'll have to see it through. In sickness and in health, wasn't it?"

"Something like that, yes," Severus said.

She heard him inhale sharply and he turned from her to muffle a sneeze in the crook of his arm. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Bless you," Charity said softly, at almost the same moment. She reached out to brush back the hair where it had fallen across his cheek. His eyes met hers and she smiled. "At least we're getting the 'in sickness' part out of the way early."

She stood up, offering her hand to Severus. "Sitting out in a drafty corridor won't help your cold," Charity said. "And I have a pot of soup to finish. Let's go home."


End file.
